Family, Faith & Certitude
by may7fic
Summary: Dean gets whomped, Sammy gets protective, John gets badass and Bobby gets a shot at setting something right. Hurt!comfort, angst in spades.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Bobby POV. Dean gets whomped, Sammy gets protective, John gets bad-ass and Bobby gets a shot at setting something right. Hurt/comfort, angst in spades. Chapter 1 of 8 in total.  
**Rating:** PG13, T (harsh language)  
**Wordcount: **1,737 of approx. 12,500  
**Pairing/Characters:** Genfic, no pairings. Bobby Singer, Dean, Sam & John Winchester  
**Spoilers:** Minor, none beyond 2.22  
**Disclaimers:** See my profile page  
**A/N:** This story is written to completion and in the wonderfully capable, uber-beta hands of pdragon76, so shouldn't take long at all in finalizing. Major thanks and kudos to her and to Heather03nmg for the incredibly quick and detailed medical info. And to Erinrua. . . hey, pard, you know I'm much obliged ;). These ladies are all made of awesomeness, as are Jennie and Penny for their help with every story I work on. Lastly, to moondropz and gatorpez, thank-you both for helping to keep the love alive with all your inspirational goodies. I'm dedicating Dean's lumps and bumps to you.

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**Family, Faith & Certitude  
**_by May Robinson_

"Sammy, go see what your brother's doing."

The words weren't a request, came out as a command and Bobby winced when he saw the rebellious look flash across Sam Winchester's face. Every man had his limits and Bobby figured, after days of rations, curfew, and what might as well have been boot-camp, Sam had just about reached the end of his tether.

Bobby'd been watching John ride herd on Sam and Dean for days now, training specifically for the added rigors of their upcoming hunt. Sure, it was the middle of March so winter couldn't exactly be declared over, and they _were_ going to be roughing it in the wilds of Minnesota. Hunting a Wendigo, no less. Still, the boys were still boys and Bobby's stomach always did turn when he witnessed John Winchester, USMC, in action with those kids.

It hadn't always been that way. Bobby remembered a time when the kids were little squirts that the man actually seemed to have a kind word to say to his sons. Hugged them even. Admittedly, over the last number of years, whenever they did swing by his yard, they were always in the middle of a hunt. Never saw them during downtime like Jim Murphy did. Hell, aside from that brief glimpse of humanity making an appearance last year when John handed over the Impala's keys to Dean in his salvage yard, Bobby wasn't really sure when he'd last seen Winchester crack a smile around his kids.

And that just didn't sit too awful well with him.

"They won't let me in there, Dad, you know that."

So, given that Bobby was of the opinion that John was just plain too hard on his boys, it came as quite a shock to him to see John just sit there and let slide the implied, _"you imbecile"_ that Bobby could hear clear as crystal in the boy's sullen reply.

Hell, _Bobby_ wouldn't put up with that kind of shit coming from Sam.

True, Sam was underage, but then again, so was Dean. Admittedly, Sam's latest growth spurt did nothing in the way of helping him appear a day older than his nearly fifteen years. Already a hair taller than both Dean and his daddy, with those gangly arms, legs and monstrous feet, not to mention in dire need of a barber, the kid was starting to resemble an overgrown chimpanzee. It was a true testament to the boy's grit and determination that he hadn't killed himself keeping up with his brother on any of the recent drills John had been putting his boys through.

Dean though, was a different story. Despite being only nineteen and possessing the blonde hair, big eyes, and long lashes that should only belong on Hollywood starlets or one of those god-awful early 70's velvet kids paintings, he still had the carriage and confidence required to waltz past the _"no-one under 21 permitted beyond this point"_ sign, order a draft, pick up a cue, and make himself at home.

It was Jim Murphy who'd pointed them all to Brogan's Pub years ago. Being just off of 169 with a motel right next door, it was the best place to be when Jim was otherwise occupied with his day-job. Close enough to Jim's, Brogan's served decent food and drink, and Bobby knew John liked it because the billiards room provided him, and more recently Dean, ample opportunity to hone their considerable abilities at both eight- and nine-ball.

Neither of them hustled here. Too near to Jim's stomping grounds. And since Murphy's was the closest the Winchesters had ever come to referring to as a home-base over the years, Bobby's place included, John wasn't inclined to step on toes by fleecing any of the pastor's flock. Bobby couldn't say he blamed him. Jim carried a big knife.

Though, by the sounds of the ooin', awin' and hootin' and hollerin' going on in the next room, and the all-suffering sigh just exhaled across the booth from him, Bobby knew John wasn't gonna be too happy if his eldest was putting on a show. Kid didn't quite understand yet that those looks combined with masterful pool skills would get him recognized. Or worse yet, garner him a reputation as far away as the Twin Cities or beyond. And just because John drew the line at hustling the good people residing in and around Blue Earth, it didn't mean he had any qualms about making a buck off of the neighboring populace.

Hence why the sudden din of applause and laughter emanating from the other room made Bobby cringe and undoubtedly prompted John's, "Now, Sammy. Go."

Winchester's growl brooked no argument and Sam, wisely responding this time with a "Yes, sir," bolted up from his spot where he'd been reading over Bobby's shoulder all night. His hip or thigh or some other part of that still growing anatomy knocked the table's edge as he exited the booth, causing John to let fly a muffled curse and grab up their drinks while Bobby rescued the notes and maps they'd spread out between them.

"Sorry, sorry," the kid sputtered, all signs of petulance gone as a blush, noticeable even in the dim lighting of the pub, worked its way from the poor kid's cheeks to his ears. Or, at least what Bobby could see of them.

"No harm done, Sam. We got it covered," he said genially as John used a napkin to blot up the beer that had escaped during their table's short-lived impersonation of a tilt-a-whirl. "Go on and do your father's biddin' now," he added, spreading the map over the table-top and then sorting the documents back into their respective piles.

"I'm on it," was Sam's reply, his dark eyes expressing gratitude as he headed toward the other room. No doubt more than a little relieved he had a legitimate excuse for escaping John's disapproving wrath.

"Christ, I'll be glad when he grows into those feet," John said then, surprising Bobby with a definite thread of humor in his voice. If that hadn't thrown him, the fondness quirking John's lips into a warm smile definitely did, even as they watched his youngest exit their aisle and make his way over to lean against the archway dividing them from Dean.

Was Bobby actually witnessing downtime?

Throwing caution to the wind, Bobby tossed out a taunt. "Careful what you wish for, Johnny-boy." Hooking a thumb in Sam's direction, he continued. "That boy there grows into himself, fills out some, and he'll be able to kick your ass from here into next week whenever he has a mind to."

"Don't I know it." John bobbed his head in agreement, took a swig of his Pabst. He was grinning damn near mischievously now. "That's why I've got Dean training him. The old man needs to keep a few tricks up his sleeve."

Chuckling at the bull Bobby knew Winchester was slinging, he still raised his half-empty mug in salute. "You keep tellin' yourself that, old man."

Another thing that peeved him about John was that the man kept altogether too many secrets from his sons. But, when it came to training them, preparing Dean and Sam for what might be out there waiting for them in the dark, he knew John would never hold out on those boys. Not when it meant life or death. Bobby had to believe that. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to hunt with him, let alone look at the man.

Sobering at the thought and more than a little reluctant to put a dent in the comfortable ease with which they were finding each other, Bobby's concern for John's kids couldn't stay unspoken. "You sure they're up for a Wendigo, John?"

"You sayin' my boys can't pull their weight, Singer?" Shit. Sure enough, Winchester's hackles went on the rise.

"Jesus H. Christ. Now don't go gettin' your panties in a twist." If there was ever any doubt as to the source of Sam's temper. . . No, come to think of it, there never had been any doubt. Bobby'd still have to smooth John's ruffled feathers though. "You know damn well it ain't my ass I'm worried about. You said it yourself. . . Sam's still growin' into himself."

Apparently granting Bobby a stay of execution, the tension in John's posture eased, as did the hard glint in his eyes. "He'll be fine, Bobby." Pure conviction in his voice. "Give Sammy something to focus on and he's as stubborn and particular about doing things the right way as I am."

Stifling a snort, Bobby couldn't help but agree. "All right, John. I won't worry about 'em then."

Throwing Bobby's words back at him, John smirked. "You keep tellin' yourself that, old man." Shrugging his shoulders, his tone getting more and more conciliatory. "If Sam knows it's all on him to watch his brother's back, he won't take a misstep. You can count on that."

Trusting John's assessment of Sam's abilities, Bobby still knew he'd be quite content to never have to see it put to the test. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Winchester boys. Rather, he'd just as soon never see them in that kind of a life and death situation.

Never in a million years did he imagine they'd all be tested right there, that night, in the middle of Brogan's Pub.

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To be continued in Chapter 2 _(within the day)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** Bobby POV. Dean gets whomped, Sammy gets protective, John gets bad-ass and Bobby gets a shot at setting something right. Hurt/comfort, angst in spades. Chapter 2 of 8 in total.  
**Rating:** PG13, T (harsh language)  
**Wordcount: **1,611 of approx. 12,500  
**Pairing/Characters:** Genfic, no pairings. Bobby Singer, Dean, Sam & John Winchester  
**Spoilers:** Minor, none beyond 2.22  
**Disclaimers:** See my profile page  
**A/N:** See Chapter 1 for author's notes

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**Family, Faith & Certitude  
**_by May Robinson_

No sooner had John uttered his faith in Sam than a commotion broke out in the next room. Gasps and even a few screams echoed from within, none nearly as alarming as Sam's shout of, "Dean, look-out!"

"What the--?"

Neither of them sparing a moment's glance at each other, John and Bobby were both in motion, John slightly in the lead as they ran into the pool room. Only stopping to take in the scene before them when they heard Dean's irritated and somewhat bewildered voice.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

Dean was backed up against one of the pool tables, Sam in front of him and slightly to his right, facing the crowd. The younger boy's stance was clearly protective, though thankfully Dean didn't look too worse for wear. Disheveled and maybe a little stunned, Dean stood staring at his hand, presumably at the blood staining it as he wiped it away from his lip. Split apparently courtesy of the guy presently being held back by two more of Brogan's patrons.

"All right, what the hell is going on?" Despite his previous thoughts to the contrary, there were times, Bobby had to concede, when having John Winchester, USMC, at your side, came in mighty handy. Despite the chaos of just moment's earlier, Bobby was convinced he could have heard a pin drop in the joint once John had spoken. Maybe even its echo.

And then Sam broke the silence.

Apparently seeing that reinforcements had arrived, Sam broke from his self-appointed post next to Dean, nearly slamming into John in his rush to answer first. "Dean was making a shot and then this guy just jumped him." Whirling to face Dean's supposed attacker, Bobby was able to grab Sam around the waist as the irate not-so-little shit lost it and flew at the man. Writhing and kicking in Bobby's hold, he began to shout, the higher pitch revealing both his frustration and his youth. "He didn't _do_ anything. Why would you do that? Why?"

"Stand down, Sammy." Surprisingly, the order came from Dean.

"But you didn't--"

"Dean?" John's question cut off any further protest from his youngest and the boy deflated in Bobby's hold. Thankfully. He wasn't sure how much longer he could have hung on to the wiry thing. Loosening his grip, he still kept an arm snug around Sam. The kid might be all-too-familiar with violence of the supernatural kind but clearly he was struggling with the concept of the human variety.

Straightening his shoulders and taking one more swipe at his still bleeding lip, Dean shook off his earlier daze and addressed his father with clear eyes. "It's like Sammy says, Dad," he shrugged. "I was taking a shot. . . Didn't see him coming."

Murmurs of assent echoed amongst the gathered onlookers so, not at all surprisingly, John made a beeline directly to the guy still being held onto by two others. Bobby noted that he appeared to be around his mid forties, about the same height as John or Dean. Relatively fit but not in their league, wearing jeans and a Twins jersey. He didn't look like much of a threat to John but Bobby didn't like the smug air he wore or the lack of fear in his eyes when John approached. At least he'd had the good sense to keep his yap shut while both Winchester boys had told their tales.

John never blinked as he advanced, moving right into Minnesota's personal space until stopping and then simply staring at him. Bobby had to give the guy credit. . . he held John's gaze for a few heartbeats before wisely finding the floor more to his liking.

Still in his face, John spoke quietly. Deadly. "You in the habit of jumping unsuspecting kids?" Bobby'd heard John use that low voice a few times in the past. Compared it then to the throaty growl his Rotties would make when they were lining up a potential threat. Couldn't really argue that comparison this time either.

Minnesota wouldn't look at John. It wasn't as though his cowardice was in question though, given his method of attack on Dean. But Bobby knew John wouldn't let up unless he had some answers. "You wanna explain why you just attacked my son?"

Much to Bobby's astonishment and the amaze of the gathered crowd, Minnesota actually raised his eyes to meet John's, and Bobby saw a glint of something decidedly maniacal, or maybe even suicidal flickering there. "The cocky little fucker had it coming."

"Hey!"

"Jesus, Dan. Shut the fuck up!"

"You asshole!"

"Easy, Sam, easy!" The room had broken out into an uproar as Dean finally lost his cool, the men holding Minnesota -- or rather Dan, apparently -- grappled to keep him in line, and Bobby tried to settle down the teenage whirlwind in his grasp.

His own task accomplished with hopefully only a few Sammy inflicted elbow-shaped bruises to his ribs, Bobby looked up to see Dean standing about an arm's length away from his dad. His father's arm's length in fact, seeing as the palm of John's left hand was flattened against the kid's chest. Dean looked fairly calm though, as did his dad, belying the fact that John's right hand had a fist full of Twins jersey gathered up beneath the idiot's throat.

Still reeling over the suicidal nerve of this Dan jerk, but taking advantage of the present lull, Bobby threw out a question over his shoulder he'd been dying to ask. "Who the hell is this guy? What's his story?"

"Dan Halpern," one of the locals supplied.

Another of the regulars eagerly picked up the tale. None too quietly, much to Bobby's chagrin. "Yeah. His wife left him for their daughter's ex-boyfriend about a week ago. Took off to Chicago."

Well, shit.

"Shut your trap, Ben." That was from Halpern, though anything else he intended to say was cut off, along with his air supply no doubt, by the ever-tightening hold John had on the man.

"This true? Is this your excuse?" If anything, Winchester sounded more dangerous, his face finally revealing an emotion. Disgust.

"Pretty boy little mother-fuckers." Halpern practically spat the words. Either he had no brains or a death wish. "They're all the same."

Both, apparently.

John gave the fist-full of jersey a shake. "You calling into question how my boy was raised, now?" His own astonishment at the man's cluelessness breaking through his voice before it settled on flat and steely once again. "You really want a piece of me, don't you?"

"Dad, don't." Bobby'd been wondering when Dean would speak up again. "It's all right, I can take him." The kid sounded confident, calm. Almost bored. Chip off the old block.

Loosening his grip on Halpern, though not letting go entirely, John turned his attention to his son, letting his palm fall from Dean's chest. "You sure about this? I need you in one piece."

If Bobby hadn't been paying close attention, he might've been driven to punch John Winchester himself. The man's questions seemingly stated as though coming from _ex-Marine John_. A commander coldly asking if his soldier was up for the task. Concern for their upcoming hunt a higher priority than concern for Dean.

But that wasn't the case at all. Though still fairly flat, John's tone had softened a touch and the body language between both Winchesters was definitely not that of commander and soldier. Though Bobby could no longer see John's face, John's head was canted to the side, as though curious, and Dean's posture was completely at ease. Had been since the moment his dad had let him go, truthfully. It was Dean's face though that told Bobby what was going on between father and son. The kid's head had dipped at John's question, came back up as John had said, _'I need you in one piece'. _Bobby couldn't help but smile as he witnessed the blush of warmth spread along Dean's cheekbones as he mirrored his dad's head tilt, clearly fighting the grin that wanted to break free. The kid shook it off though, straightened, as did his dad, then looked at John head on and answered coolly, "Oh yeah, I'm sure."

"All right, then." Despite John's quiet response, the masses understandably got noisy again. Bobby probably should have wondered why this man's word, hell, his presence, seemed to dictate what was about to happen. Should have, but didn't. After all, he'd known John nearly fifteen years.

"Not unless you take it outside, boys." Bobby couldn't blame the management. So far, the pub had remained intact this night.

"Yes!" Sam was definitely as pumped as the throng beginning to vacate the place and Bobby released his grip on the boy. Watching in amusement as images of Spike the Bulldog and Chester the little whatever -- terrier, probably -- sprung to his mind, Sam was damn near bouncing around Dean and their dad as the older man ushered the kid under his arm out of the building into the brightly lit parking lot.

Bobby just hoped like hell that Dan Halpern was well and truly a pussy-cat and not an escaped blank panther in disguise.

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To be continued in Chapter 3 _(this weekend)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** Bobby POV. Dean gets whomped, Sammy gets protective, John gets bad-ass and Bobby gets a shot at setting something right. Hurt/comfort, angst in spades. Chapter 3 of 7 in total.  
**Rating:** PG13, T (harsh language)  
**Wordcount: **approx. 12,000  
**Pairing/Characters:** Genfic, no pairings. Bobby Singer, Dean, Sam & John Winchester  
**Spoilers:** Minor, none beyond 2.22  
**Disclaimers:** See my profile page  
**A/N:** The betas are back from pdragon76 so now all I have to do is finalize each chapter. I hope to be able to post every other day but I'm back to work on Monday after 2 weeks of vacation so won't have as much computer time. Oh, and I may be able to turn a phrase fairly decently but apparently I can't count… note that the total number of chapters is **only 7** and not 8. Oops! Thanks again to dragon for the wonderful and jiffy quick beta and to Heather03nmg for the equally quick and detailed medical info. And to Erinrua. . . hey, pard, you know I'm much obliged ;). These ladies are all made of awesomeness, as are Jennie and Penny for their help with every story I work on. Once again, to moondropz and gatorpez, thank-you both for helping to keep the love alive with all your inspirational goodies. I've dedicated Dean's lumps and bumps to you.

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**Family, Faith & Certitude  
**_by May Robinson_

As fights went, this one was only remarkable in that Halpern actually stayed upright after Dean's first punch. Mind you, he likely would have gone down from the left hook that solidly connected with his ribcage. It was just that the right cross that Dean immediately followed it up with staggered Halpern for a second or two, before gravity finally took over and planted him on his ass on the parking lot's slush covered surface.

Clearly old Dan's daddy never taught him not to drop his left when he was about to take a swing with his right.

Bobby had hold of an elated Sam, not wanting the kid's gloating to rub further salt in Halpern's wounds. Bobby almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost. After all, his wife had just deserted him for a much younger man and Dean had pretty near emasculated him in front of town, God and country without even breaking a sweat.

John and Dean stood shoulder to shoulder ahead of Bobby and Sam, a united front looking down on Halpern, still seated on his ass, his jeans soaking up the lot's filthy snow. Nobody had come to the man's aid, either tired of his bullshit or still wary of the fight. Likely a bit of both.

"Are we done here?" John asked of him, the question purely a courtesy.

Halpern ducked his head, kept it there until finally looking up at both Dean and John. Resignation heavy on his shoulders, reflected in his eyes. "Yeah, we're done. I'm done." Heaving a defeated sigh, he thrust an arm out toward Dean. "Give me a hand up, would ya, kid?"

Dean didn't hesitate, his forgiving nature being what it was, and stepped forward to grasp Halpern's hand.

That Halpern, who was so clearly right-handed in the fight, had reached up with his left must have registered as wrong with John a split second before it did with Bobby. But in that second, as John shouted, "Dean, no!" the panther struck and Bobby watched in horror as Dean was suddenly pulled forward and down, crumpling to the ground as Halpern swung with his right and drove a knife deep into Dean's gut.

Amid the clamor of shocked pandemonium that had broken out once again, Sam screamed his brother's name and scrambled forward dragging an unresisting Bobby along. Both of them dropped to their knees next to John, who held his writhing son across his knees and against his chest. The kid was in a world of pain, crying out, and John was panicked in a way that Bobby had never seen before, pleading with Dean to let go of the wound so that he could take a look. Fast flowing blood was blossoming from beneath pale hands clamped over the wound, and Bobby had to look away from the appalling sight.

Finding a justification for his weakness, he took a look around the parking lot, assessing if there were any further threats. The red-stained knife lay within Bobby's reach, well away from Halpern who had once again been restrained by others and stood about twenty feet away, shoved up against a parked Dodge Ram. Sporting a few extra bruises but seemingly unresisting once again.

"Don't even let him fucking twitch," Bobby yelled over to Halpern's subduers, venom in his voice. Feeling some semblance of control, despite a weak attempt at tuning out Dean's ragged breaths, Bobby called out again. "Has anybody called 9-1-1? We need cops and an ambulance."

"They're both on the way." Somebody shouted back. A few of the onlookers approached, no doubt about to offer their help, but Bobby stopped them in their tracks with a glare. No doctors or nurses had stepped up so he figured John and he were best qualified to look after Dean anyway. He'd ask for help if and when they needed it, but not until then. Neither John nor his boys needed anyone else hovering around, witnessing their pain. Satisfied the authorities were on their way, Bobby returned his focus to Dean, and to see what he could do to help John.

John must have found his bearings again, and had somehow managed to convince or likely order Dean to relinquish his grip on the wound. Covered in too much blood, one of the boy's hands was now being held by Sammy, the youngest Winchester crying silent streams of tears as he hung on like a vice. Dean's other hand rested weakly atop his father's two, pressing a remnant of John's work-shirt firmly against the wound.

"Help's on the way," Bobby informed them, forcing false cheer and equally false confidence out of his throat. "You hear me, John? Help's comin'," Bobby repeated, trying to break through the mantra of, _"it's all right, you're gonna be all right,"_ that John was whispering to Dean.

Dean was barely conscious, pale green eyes riveted to his dad's face by sheer will alone, but damn did he look bad. Those eyes were sunk into skin so void of color, even his lips were white, and the boy was sweating despite the chill in the air. Those signs mixed with his rapid breathing meant the kid was going into shock and Bobby quickly removed his jacket and added it to the one John had already wrapped around his son's shoulders.

Whether he was reacting to the help or just now recognizing why it was necessary, John finally acknowledged Bobby's earlier words. Leaning in toward Bobby, as though he could spare Dean from hearing the words, John whispered harshly, "Bobby, we can't wait. I don't know if it hit anything vital but he's still losing too much blood."

If Bobby's heart sank at the grief and desperation threaded through John's words, Sammy's despondent, "Daddy?" nearly did him in. Instead he gathered his wits, shook himself off and decided he'd have to take command.

"Okay, you got it, John. Where're the keys?" While John slid a hand into his pocket and fished out his keys, Bobby placed his palm overtop of the remaining one John had pressed against Dean. Trading off again, Dean cried out from the movement and changes in pressure, and Bobby cringed at the sound, feeling wholly inadequate and apologizing before dangling the keys in front of Sam. "Sam, I need you to go get the car."

"What? No! I gotta stay with Dean."

Bobby understood Sam's resistance, the kid was petrified for his brother. Dean didn't have time for an argument though, so Bobby had to tear a page out of John's book and reluctantly raised his voice. "Sam, I need you to listen to me now, boy," he pressed, wincing at the startled look that played across the boy's face, before adding, "I'm gonna drive you all to the hospital but I need you to go get the car, alright? Let me stay here and help your dad with Dean."

The boy's eyes were still streaming tears and Bobby hated himself at that moment, seeing the reflection of betrayal written all over Sam's face. "But, no--" he practically whimpered. That was John's Sammy, though. Defiant to the end. It was only fitting then that his brother's breathless voice put a stop to it.

"Sammy, go. . . I'll be okay."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'll go." Unable to say no to his brother, Sam still didn't release his grip from Dean until he'd carefully exchanged Bobby's hand for his. Snatching up the keys, the youngest Winchester took off like a streak. "I'll be right back," drifting back to them as he ran toward the Impala.

"Always was. . . an excitable. . . little twerp," Dean gasped out, catching both Bobby and John off guard. And though Bobby did choke out a laugh at the kid's completely unexpected levity, what sounded more like a sob escaped from John's lips, only to blend with the strained smile he wore for the kid suffering in his hold.

Recognizing that John needed a minute, and heartened by Dean's relative awareness, Bobby decided he'd keep talking, hoping he'd be able to stave off any further symptoms of shock. "Hey, kid. Looks like I get the honor of drivin' your lady, huh?"

"Just treat her. . . with respect," Dean answered, his willingness to play along a testament to the Winchester stubbornness Bobby vowed he'd never disparage again.

"Don't worry, son," John added, curled over his boy so that their faces were merely inches apart. "I'll keep watch. You know her virtue's always been safe with me."

Dean coughed out a painful laugh, tears leaking from his eyes, but Bobby'd lay odds that John was as relieved as he was that no blood had found its way into Dean's mouth. Any comeback the kid might have made though was forestalled by the sound of four hundred and twenty-seven cubic inches of V8 engine revving for all it was worth.

"Here she comes, sport," John said, reassurance in his tone. Shooting Bobby an anxious glance, he added, "We need to get you upright. You think you can stand with some help?"

Locking eyes with his father, Dean must have found the strength he was looking for and answered with an almost convincing, "Yeah, okay," before clamping his lower lip between his front teeth and weakly reaching up to wrap an arm around his father's neck. Bobby helped him with that effort and, on the count of three, he and John hoisted Dean up on his feet, sandwiched between the two of them.

Despite his best efforts to suppress it, the scream wrenched from Dean's throat was heartrending and Bobby couldn't fault John the tears in his eyes as he asked Bobby to take charge of maintaining pressure on the wound, allowing him the freedom to simply stand there holding onto his son while the kid shuddered in his embrace.

Sammy arrived within seconds and Bobby thanked God for rolled up windows and throaty V8 engines. Sam still looked worried but also relieved to see Dean upright, a fallacy he was more than willing to allow the boy. Jumping out of the car with more energy than Bobby could ever hope to muster, Sam opened all the doors before coming to stand next to their huddled group. Placing a tentative hand on his brother's shoulder he finally spoke. "I'm back, Dean." God, did he sound young. Then, removing some sterile packages from one of his pockets, he optimistically announced, "I pulled out some pressure bandages from the kit."

"Good work, Sammy," John replied, his praise more gentle than Bobby could ever recall hearing from the man. "Can you take him, Bobby?" he asked. And Bobby immediately understood that John wanted him to take Dean's weight so that he could apply the bandages. "You need to take it all," he directed huskily and, as Bobby watched John slide his hand up from Dean's back to support his neck, he realized with growing fear that John had been almost fully supporting his son.

Wedged between them as he was, shifting Dean from John's hold to Bobby's wasn't too difficult. At this point the kid could only articulate a grunt while they changed positions and Bobby blinked back the prickle of tears that sprung to his own eyes when Dean's head weakly lolled against his shoulder.

Deftly applying the pressure bandages, with Sammy's help, John began to wrap Dean's waist with further bandaging. After a number of good turns, he handed the wrap to a startled Sam saying, "Take over, kiddo. You got Dean, Bobby?"

Bobby didn't like the sound of that at all. Nor did he like the thunderous expression taking over John's face.

"Dad?"

"John."

Sam's was a question. Bobby's. . . more like a warning.

"Do. You. Have. Him. Bobby?"

"Yes. John." Glancing at a bewildered Sam, Bobby gritted his teeth before he said anything else to the boy's fucking idiot of a father. His concern for what was about to happen warring with his own anger at being completely helpless to do anything to prevent it.

"All right then."

"Dad?" That was from Dean and Bobby had to admit it shocked the hell out of him to discover the kid was still even remotely aware. Surprised his dad, too, especially when Dean managed to briefly grasp onto John's sleeve.

All evidence of his brewing hostility suddenly gone, John lowered himself to meet Dean's barely open eyes. "Right here, bud."

"Stay. . . Don'. . . lea. . ." It was more than obvious that the boy was truly struggling now and Bobby hoped like hell he'd get through to his old man in a way that no-one else could.

"No worries, kiddo. I'm not going anywhere." Smoothing a hand through Dean's hair, John's breath hitched as he stopped to stare at the blood staining his hand. Blood that now tainted Dean's hair too.

Bobby knew then that not even Dean could stop his father's lethal intentions.

Closing his eyes briefly as he drew in a deep breath, John straightened up and fondly ruffled Sam's hair before backing away from their little group, surprising Bobby and certainly Sam as the words, "I'm here, Dean. Right here," spilled again from his lips.

John kept moving, walking backwards despite the sureness of each step, his voice gradually rising even though its tone remained gentle. Repeating the promise "I'm right here" until he'd paced a distance no more than three of four strides away from Dan Halpern.

Once again, the remaining crowd got a free show, gasping and shrieking at John's display. Bobby pulled Sammy into his side just as John finally turned around, drawing his .45 and stalking the rest of the way toward Halpern. The men restraining Halpern wisely fled, leaving him to cower against the pickup truck he'd been held against. John continued his approach, arm extended, gun unwavering until its muzzle was pressed up against the man's chest. Bobby knew John had yet to make his point and when he promptly repositioned and drove the Colt up underneath Halpern's chin, lifting him with enough force to raise him up on his toes, Bobby figured John was getting awful close to the punch-line.

Bobby couldn't make out what John said to the man, didn't honestly think he wanted to know. Suffice it to say, Halpern's humiliation was at last complete when a stain suddenly appeared and spread from his crotch down his pant leg, just before John let fly with a familiar looking though much more savage right cross. Knocking him out cold and leaving him to slump bonelessly into a heap once more into the slush.

Turning around and jogging straight back to Bobby and the boys, John threw an absurdly casual "Make sure that piece of shit gets arrested before somebody kills him" over his shoulder to the astonished spectators. Immediately riveted on the kid in Bobby's hold, he lightly cupped Dean's face, whispered, "See? Still here, kiddo," into his ear and, every bit as tender as he was brutal just moments earlier, took him from Bobby and lifted him into his arms, sliding into the back-seat with Dean clutched against his chest.

* * *

_To be continued in chapter 4_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary:** Bobby POV. Dean gets whomped, Sammy gets protective, John gets bad-ass and Bobby gets a shot at setting something right. Hurt/comfort, angst in spades. Chapter 4 of 7 in total.  
**Rating:** PG13, T (harsh language)  
**Wordcount: **approx. 12,000  
**Pairing/Characters:** Genfic, no pairings. Bobby Singer, Dean, Sam & John Winchester  
**Spoilers:** Minor, none beyond 2.22  
**Disclaimers:** See my profile page  
**A/N:** See Chapters 1 and 3 for author's notes

**

* * *

**

**Family, Faith & Certitude  
**_by May Robinson_

Quietly opening the door to Dean's room, Bobby took a moment to absorb the heartening site. After a twenty-four hour stay in the ICU, the kid had been moved here, where he would stay for another couple days. He still looked god-awful, was weak as a day-old kitten, but at least the blood they'd pumped into him to replenish all that he'd lost had put a bit of color back where it belonged. They still had him plugged into a bunch of machines, the O-two and BP cuff being the most obvious. But, since they were now only there to _remind_ everyone Dean was alive, as opposed to being the only things keeping him that way, Bobby figured the encumbrances were more than a fair trade-off.

Dean appeared to be sound asleep, a hopeful sign that the morphine flowing through him was helping to fend off the pain. Both guardrails were down with Sammy in a chair beside him, snoring just loud enough for Bobby to hear at the door. He wasn't exactly sure what constituted a Kodak moment, sure as hell never really figured the Winchesters would ever fit into that equation. Still, seeing Dean's hand resting in the dark mop of hair cozied up next to him, well, that pretty much qualified as one in Bobby's books.

Of course the picture their old man was creating was running a close second, not that Bobby was going to enlighten John on that fact any time soon. Winchester sat opposite Sam, some magazine spread open on the mattress next to Dean, one hand poised ready to flip its pages while the other rested like a slightly off-kilter crown on Dean's head.

Bobby hated like hell to interrupt the peaceful moment but he'd promised John he'd check in before hitting the road.

Before Bobby could say anything, John straigtened up in his seat, looked over his shoulder and waved Bobby in. "C'mon, in," he said quietly, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn. Bobby approached, yawning too now, of course. He found a chair to park himself in, then watched, wincing in sympathy as John stretched his arms over his head and worked out the knots in his back. Cracking his knuckles when his fingers met, John's other joints jumped on the bandwagon, popping loud enough it was a wonder both boys didn't wake.

"Gettin' older's a bitch, ain't it?" Bobby said by way of a greeting.

John chuckled lightly, shook out a few more kinks before settling a hand this time on Dean's wrist.

"You heading out?" He asked, voice sounding rough.

"Yeah, Caleb's waiting in the truck. Jeff's gonna meet us up near St. Cloud. Jim too. He been by already?"

John's answer was a nod. Then, elaborating, "He wanted to see the boys again. Check on Dean." Reaching over and picking up a set of keys from off of a side table, he jangled them. "Left me these for his place. For Sammy 'n me."

Bobby thought that sounded like one helluva good idea. John's beard needed a lawn mower, the man likely hadn't showered since the morning before Dean got stabbed. Sam too, probably. Hell, as far as Bobby knew, the two of them hadn't breached the hospital doors since they all got here. Bobby'd been the one to move the Chevy from out of the emergency bay and he'd bet easy money the car was still exactly where he'd parked it.

Sure as shit John hadn't slept a wink yet. Even after they got the news that Dean would be okay, he wouldn't budge. Bobby'd offered to take a watch then -- no point doing it any sooner. But John dug in his heels, insisted on being there and awake.

For Dean.

And Bobby felt like a damn fool. Lord knew John Winchester was an ornery bastard who definitely practiced some awfully unconventional methods in parenting. But, if Bobby ever again doubted that the man's motives had to do with anything other than a fierce and fervent love for his boys, he hoped someone like Jim Murphy was around to kick him in the ass. Hell, he envied Jim for what he'd known all along. For being around the Winchesters enough to witness it.

Never mind that believing it sooner might've prevented the ulcer Bobby'd been blaming John for these last couple years.

Already suspecting the answer, Bobby still asked the question. "You staying with Jim when Dean gets outta here?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure yet, to be honest." Tossing a glance toward his youngest, he added, "Sammy's supposed to be back in school next week." Working his way back to Bobby's question, he shrugged again. "Dunno. Likely."

Seeing an opening he didn't even realize he was looking for, Bobby made the offer. "Well, it's not a whole lot closer for him but, if you boys decide you wanna make your way a bit further west, my door's always open."

John looked surprised, then a little confused. But, when his expression settled on something midway between smug and amused, Bobby wondered if he'd live to regret the invitation. Hell, he'd only just made it and already he wanted to crack John one on the chin.

Still wearing a bit of a smirk, John said good-naturedly, "Su casa es mi casa, Bobby?"

Looking over to the kids, Bobby answered, not even trying to conceal the affection in his voice. "Hell, no. More like their casa, John."

John broke into a real grin then, his expression softening as his gaze followed Bobby's and traveled from one sleeping son to another. "Thanks, Bobby. We just may take you up on it."

"Well, good then. Just give me a call if you decide you're comin'." Deciding it was time to take his leave, Bobby made to stand up. "I'd better go. Caleb's waitin'."

John's expression sobered fast, apology and regret playing over tight features. Bobby knew where his thoughts were heading. He'd hear John out but wouldn't let the man travel too far down that path.

John stood up with Bobby. Didn't move from Dean's side though. "You know I hate having to back out on this hunt. Leaving you boys to scramble like this." He looked down at Dean again, lightly trailed his fingers over the back of the kid's hand. "He doesn't ask me for much though, you know?"

Yeah, Bobby did.

"Christ, John, don't worry about it. Hell, we only really lost a day and this time 'a year isn't exactly prime for people out wandering in those woods." Lightly clasping John's shoulder, he gave it a reassuring squeeze before adding, "You know where you gotta be. And when you gotta be there." Meeting his friend's eyes, his voice laced with respect and more than a little regret, Bobby admitted, "I may be a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but I think I've finally figured that one out."

John ducked his head, brushed away Bobby's arm and then faced him again with a warm smile that was well on its way to working itself into another one of his worrisome smirks. Quirked an eyebrow then. "You know I'm gonna remind you of this conversation the next time you've decided I've crapped in your cornflakes."

"Don't I know it. Can't promise I'm gonna listen, though."

"Fair enough," John replied, slinging an arm over Bobby's shoulder as they walked toward the door. Reaching the threshold, John dropped his arm and gripped Bobby's hand instead. His grasp felt like iron, though his words were soft, brimming with heartfelt gratitude. "I can't thank you enough, Bobby. For everything."

"No need, John." Cocking his head in the direction of John's two sleeping boys, Bobby smiled fondly. "You know, like as not, you and I'll find something to butt heads over down the line. But, remember this. . . when the lead's flying, you boys need me, I'll be there. Don't ever doubt it."

* * *

_Continued in chapter 5 (tomorrow)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary:** Bobby POV. Dean gets whomped, Sammy gets protective, John gets bad-ass and Bobby gets a shot at setting something right. Hurt/comfort, angst in spades. Chapter 5 of 7 in total.  
**Rating:** PG13, T (harsh language)  
**Wordcount: **approx. 13,000  
**Pairing/Characters:** Genfic, no pairings. Bobby Singer, Dean, Sam & John Winchester  
**Spoilers:** Minor, none beyond 2.22  
**Disclaimers:** See my profile page  
**A/N:** See Chapters 1 & 3 for author's notes

**

* * *

**

**Family, Faith & Certitude  
**_by May Robinson_

"Nice bed-time story there, _Uncle Bobby_." Despite looking and sounding like shit, apparently Dean still had just enough energy to mock his elders. Kid had to be exhausted, though.

His eyes were thankfully clearer now. Clear enough to twinkle even. "You gonna tuck me in now too?"

"Hey, I'm just tellin' it like I saw it, kid."

Okay, so maybe Bobby'd embellished it some. Not all that much though, considering, which was remarkable in its own right. Keeping his voice down for the sake of Ellen, who'd just turned in, and the youngest Winchester he hoped was asleep down the hall, Bobby still managed to sound affronted. "What? You think I'm exaggeratin'?"

"Oh, yeah." The kid replied, failing to keep a smile from quirking his lips. "Except for the part where I decked that dude. I totally dropped him with one punch."

Slapping his hands on his thighs, Bobby leaned forward in the chair he'd pushed up next to the kid lying on his couch, made to get up. "That's it, I gotta go wake Sam. We're takin' you to the hospital."

Alarmed, Dean reached out, snagging Bobby's wrist. "What? Hold on a second! What the hell for?"

"That concussion's worse than we thought." Bobby was working awful hard at keeping a straight face. "It was two punches, Dean. I saw it with my own two eyes. You must be gettin' delusional."

"Oh, fuck you, Singer." Crossing his arms over his chest, the kid sunk back into the couch in an exaggerated huff.

Dean looked midway between irritated and amused and Bobby had to congratulate himself for pulling one over on the kid. It didn't happen too often. Mind you, if it was always gonna take a demon hurling him head-first into a tombstone to knock Dean even remotely off his game, Bobby was willing to forgo any future victories.

The memory of Dean's knees buckling as he passed out, just after tossing the Colt into the trunk of the Impala, sent an involuntary shudder along Bobby's spine. Lord knew he'd had just about all he could take of watching John's boys fall.

Sobering further, as memories taunted him of everything that had happened from the moment a frantic Dean had called to say Sam'd disappeared, Bobby breathed out a too damn tired sigh.

"Bobby?"

The warmth and strength in the grip that suddenly encircled his wrist brought Bobby out of his painful reverie. Between the concern ringing in Dean's voice and his all too expressive eyes though, the shame Bobby felt at that moment damn near swallowed him whole.

After all, the kid'd just had his little brother snatched out from under his nose -- by _the_ demon no less, witnessed that brother's murder, sold his soul in return for a year long death sentence straight into hell, and then watched his dad slip away for the second time in less than a year.

And _he_ was worried about Bobby.

Christ, that was all too many kinds of fucked up.

"I'm sorry, kid." And wasn't that just the understatement of the year?

Dean shrugged his shoulders and then, God love him, came up with another cocky little smirk. "Hey, no, I'm sorry. I had no idea you were this sensitive. Next time I won't be so hard on you."

Bobby couldn't help but laugh. "Smart-ass little shit."

Dean outright beamed at that.

Collecting himself, Bobby returned to the mission at hand. Dean was a captive audience and Bobby was determined to take advantage of the situation and see if he could make some headway with, well, with the kid's head.

"Now, as I was sayin'. . . It was your daddy that cold-cocked that Dan fella." Before Dean could protest again, Bobby cut him off. "Uh, uh. This is _my_ story to tell, so you just sit there and shut your cake-hole." Damn, did Bobby feel bad about Sam missing that.

"Fine," Dean sulked. "Pick on the wounded house-guest."

"My pleasure, kid." Bobby threw back, then picked up where he left off. "I'll tell ya though. It was watching John line up that asshole and pull his .45 on him that was truly worth the price of admission."

If anything, Dean's eyes got bigger than the first time Bobby'd recounted that part of the tale. "So Dad really full on Rambo'd that dude?"

"Yup. But with a whole lot 'a Buford Pusser thrown in to boot."

"No, shit?" Some sorely lacking color warmed Dean's cheeks then, and Bobby couldn't help but feel the satisfaction of being responsible for it. Dean looked up at Bobby, the wonder reflecting in those eyes reminding him of the little boy he'd let loose in his scrap-yard with some tools and his dogs so many years ago. Genuine awe permeated Dean's words when he said, "I always thought Sam made that part up."

Bobby understood where the kid was coming from. John pulling a gun on a man -- a decidedly human man -- in front of a crowd _did_ seem pretty extreme. Even for him. Then again. . .

"What? You really think _that's_ a stretch for your old man?" Bobby raised an incredulous eyebrow, then looked pointedly at Dean. "Am I the only one here who just watched him climb out the gates of hell?"

Bobby actually saw the rush of tears fill Dean's eyes and instantly regretted his tone. The boy held them back though and, instead of the heartache he was obviously feeling, it was pride and pure devotion that showed itself when he softly spoke. "Touché, Bobby."

"Damn straight." Clearing his throat from the lump that was doing its damnedest to close it, Bobby pushed onward. "So, what _do_ you remember about that night?"

Dean settled back into the couch, resting against the pile of pillows and bedclothes that Ellen had fussed over for too damn long. His expression growing thoughtful, it took a minute or two for Dean to answer, and Bobby was a bit surprised when the kid's lips quirked up again. Laughing lightly, he started. "I remember I could do no wrong with a cue stick. I guess it just rubbed that guy the wrong way though, huh? He came at me and clipped me while I was setting up a shot." A decade's worth of bewilderment appeared as a hint of resentment played over the kid's face. A lot less than Bobby would have expected. On the heels of it came pure affection though. Dean cocked his head, indicating the hall leading to the room Sam was bunked down in. "I definitely remember little Sammy Sasquatch, all puffed up and stepping in to save the day."

"Oh, yeah. That brother of yours was mad as hell." Bobby laughed too then, the memory of that image certainly a fond one. "I had one helluva time keepin' the little shit under control. Only thing that did, was you knocking that guy flat on his ass."

"With one punch."

"Give it up, kid. It was two."

"Dude! Whatever."

Bobby held his tongue, the kid was getting all huffy again. Besides, they were about to wade into some damn uncomfortable waters, so Bobby was willing to allow Dean his fantasy. "But you don't remember anything after the fight?"

"What? After he shanked me, you mean?" Bobby flinched at the memory. Dean falling. Bobby as helpless as John to do anything about it. And then just the other night, watching it happen again. This time to Sam. Both times took his breath away, made his heart sink. Dean, though, at this moment, seemed matter-of-fact. "Can't remember much of anything, really."

"But you remember some?" Bobby was pressing, but Dean was oblivious, working too hard at coming up with an answer. Kid always did aim to please.

He shrugged. "I remember Sammy being upset. Crying like a girl." On the surface, the words might have seemed like ridicule, but Dean's tone reflected only the soft spot he had for his kid brother.

Even still, the rebuke slipped out. "Dean--" Bobby almost said it. Almost said, _'he'd just watched his brother get stabbed.'_ Caught himself, thank God.

"I know, Bobby."

Shit, he'd still managed to make Dean feel guilty. He'd just have to push on. "So, that's it?"

The kid got wistful, but not like before, when Bobby could tell Dean was working to pull up a few long forgotten memories. No, these memories were held close, and Dean was deciding if he wanted to share them. Open up. If it hadn't been for the concussion, Bobby would've gladly offered up a whiskey.

Just like his daddy though, Dean could always summon up courage whenever he needed it.

"I remember Dad. Yeah. Just. . . Dad." Lashes blinking rapidly, the kid's eyes suddenly shining over-bright. Bobby's too. Giving the kid an encouraging nod, Bobby's throat was closed up so tight he couldn't have said "go on" if his life depended on it. And even though Bobby didn't think he saw him nod, Dean still smiled at that moment. Lord, but it looked bittersweet. He was looking through Bobby now. Past him. Caught up in a decade old memory of a time when home and family meant _three_, and safety meant just knowing that John was there, or would be soon. And that was good enough. All he ever needed.

_'He doesn't ask me for much though, you know?'_

Ah, hell. The grief was eating _Bobby_ alive, and knowing that Dean was hurt and still hurting, Bobby felt like a contemptible ass for having started this little exercise. Dean didn't deserve any more pain. Bobby should have just tucked the kid in when he'd had the chance and let him sleep another two hours. Let Sam wake him up next. But the corral gate was swung open now and Dean was still talking.

"He kept telling me he was there, you know? That Sammy was too. Making sure I knew I wasn't alone." Dean shrugged his shoulders almost casually, but his walls were down. And when he looked up at Bobby then, connected with him again, he looked so hurt and so damn young, Bobby could have sworn he was looking at the same nineteen year old kid from that night. The one he'd held onto while he watched John dole out retribution to the man who'd just tried to kill his son.

Ducking his head, almost apologetically, Dean finally spilled a tear when his gaze met Bobby's again. "Guess he knew what I was most afraid of back then."

_Back then, huh? _

Bobby didn't say it. Instead, he offered reassurance, and took the opening he'd been waiting for. "You meant the world to him, Dean. Always did."

Dean wiped his eyes, swallowed hard and then bobbed his head a few times in what Bobby hoped was acceptance. Belief.

Whatever comfort Dean might have found from Bobby's offering didn't last though, and he stiffened so abruptly, Bobby actually jerked back in his seat.

Eyes that just seconds earlier had held a world of grief, now flashed with that infamous Winchester temper. As Dean's handsome face contorted into an angry sneer, he raised up onto his elbows and pinned Bobby with an accusing glare. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Bobby. Is that what this is? You wanna go back outside? Finish this where we started?" Betrayal flared across hardening features and despite the debilitating headache Bobby knew the kid had to have, Dean shook his head and scoffed. "No, wait. You're right. This is even better. . . Dean's not going anywhere so let's take a trip down memory lane. See if we can fix his self-esteem like one of those old beaters out in the yard!"

"Now, hold on just a minute, kid." This was not good. Not good at all. Problem was, Dean wasn't exactly wrong, here. And Bobby's plan was backfiring.

Spectacularly.

Dean wasn't finished either. "Is that it, Bobby?" Bitterness fuelled his words. "Do you honestly think I sold my fucking soul because I thought Dad didn't love me?" Dean's outburst had clearly taken its toll though and he slumped back against the couch and pressed the heel of his hand against his brow. "Christ! That was always Sam's baggage. _Never_ mine. And you of all people should know that."

"I _do_ know it, you idjit," Bobby said warmheartedly, calm, hoping to break the ice that was forming a barrier between them. The kid still shot him a dirty look. That was okay though. Not like Bobby didn't deserve it. "So, you wanna tell me then, when it was that you started thinking so little of your dad's opinion?"

"What?" Incredulous. And still pissed. "That's bullshit. I always agreed with him." Amended with, "At least on the important stuff."

Thinking about their argument out back in the yard, after Dean and a newly resurrected Sam had shown up on his doorstep, Bobby could still hear the gut-churning echo of Dean's self-deprecating words. Didn't make him feel much like pulling his punches. "Oh, I dunno. Seems to me that the man I watched that night come close to murdering the sonovabitch that stabbed you, might have something to say about _'maybe my life can mean something'."_

"Fuck you, Singer." And this time Bobby was sure the kid meant it.

"Sayin' something you don't wanna hear, doesn't make me wrong, Dean."

"He'd understand why I did it." Dean's voice was sounding awfully rough now. The grief was coming through again and Bobby hated like hell putting Dean through all this. Hoped it'd be worth it in the end.

"Yeah," Bobby sighed. Rubbed a hand through his beard. "Yeah, he would. I won't argue you there." Bobby believed that. Didn't know if he could quite forgive John that mistake. It didn't really matter in the long run, Bobby supposed. This did though. "Question is. . . do you understand why he did it in the first place?"

"Of course I do."

"Which brings us right back 'round to you thinking so poorly of John's opinion."

Dean looked knocked for a loop. Couldn't say Bobby blamed him, the boy did just waltz right into a trap. Even concussions sometimes had their plus sides.

"It won't work, Bobby." It wasn't spoken with a whole lot of conviction though, so Bobby begged to differ. Dean was being stubborn but he _was_ wearing down.

Leaning forward, Bobby laid a hand on Dean's arm. Took Dean not shrugging it off as another good sign. "Look, I know you, kid. And I know damn well that it doesn't matter how many lives you save, or what Ellen, or me, or hell, even Sam hafta say about this."

It was true. Sam's was truly the only opinion that mattered now to Dean. Except about this -- this worthiness bull. That's when Dean could always pull the _"big brother knows best"_ card. And did. Regularly. Bobby'd been witness to that for almost twenty years.

But John and Dean weren't the only hunters to ever make a buck playing cards. And Bobby'd been known to pull an ace out of his sleeve a time or two.

Giving the kid's arm a pat, he locked eyes with him, kept his voice steady. "But, you know what, Dean? There's a man I know, the only one as a matter of fact I've ever heard tell of fightin' his way out of a demon's control all on his own. . ." Bobby couldn't keep the reverence from his voice. Didn't try. "The same man that turned around then and sold his soul to that demon. And he did both to save your life."

Dean looked away then, down, anywhere but at Bobby. So Bobby gripped that arm, squeezing hard enough to draw eyes he knew would again be wet back to him. "Now, if you ask me. . . that makes that life mean a whole helluva lot. Doesn't it?"

Dean got awful quiet then, wistful again. Broody. "He was saving Sammy too," came out in barely a whisper.

"What?"

"When he broke through the possession. . . Sam was in trouble too."

Bobby bowed his head. He had to give Dean credit. It was a weak argument, but the kid wasn't willing to fold yet. Wouldn't be a Winchester if he was. "Oh, yeah? Remind me whose insides were bleedin' all over their outside, then? Or maybe I should ask the man that climbed out of hell today and saved your life again."

Dean actually huffed out a laugh then, though it sounded more like a sob.

This time Bobby's hand found Dean's face, cupped it and gently forced it to raise until their eyes met once more. Dean didn't resist. "So tell me then. . . Can you give me one good reason why it is that you think John Winchester can be right about so damn much but be wrong about you?"

Dean drew away, pulled in a shaky breath and then closed his eyes. Kept them that way long enough for Bobby to wonder if the sleep Dean was in dire need of had actually claimed him. Heavy lids parted though, revealing the mute little boy Bobby'd met all those many years ago peeking out from behind the leg of his daddy, desperate to pet Bobby's new pup. And gifting Bobby with the hesitant, grateful smile he was wearing now. "No, Bobby, I can't."

"Good. Didn't think so." Bobby said it gentle, refrained from being smug. Dean looked defeated, not like he'd gained anything here.

That was okay though. Rome wasn't built in a day.

* * *

_To be concluded with chapters 6 & 7 (hopefully tomorrow)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary:** Bobby POV. Dean gets whomped, Sammy gets protective, John gets bad-ass and Bobby gets a shot at setting something right. Hurt/comfort, angst in spades. Chapter 6 of 7 in total.  
**Rating:** PG13, T (harsh language)  
**Wordcount: **approx. 13,000  
**Pairing/Characters:** Genfic, no pairings. Bobby Singer, Dean, Sam & John Winchester  
**Spoilers:** Minor, none beyond 2.22  
**Disclaimers:** See my profile page  
**A/N:** See Chapters 1 & 3 for author's notes

**

* * *

**

**Family, Faith & Certitude  
**_by May Robinson_

"Hey, Bobby." Sam stretched those long, muscular arms over his head as he made his way over to the couch. Watching him now, it was hard for Bobby to reconcile this image of the youngest Winchester with that of the gangly klutz he and Dean had been fondly reminiscing about before Bobby had let Dean succumb to the sleep he'd been craving.

"Hey, Sam." Scrutinizing the kid's drawn features, Bobby asked, "You get any shut-eye?" He'd been expecting Sam's arrival, had heard the boy's watch alarm go off just minutes before. In the quiet of the middle of the night, even that light tinny sound could make itself known to Bobby's ears. Especially when Dean's soft breaths had been the only thing he'd been listening to for a while now.

"Yeah, thanks, I did," Sam answered, not looking at Bobby. Bobby didn't take the inattention personally, the boy's focus had been on his sleeping brother since the moment he'd stepped into the living-room. Finally, hazel eyes still swollen from sleep, and no doubt the last few days' worth of emotions, met Bobby's. The kid looked a bit subdued, but then laughed lightly, sounding a little embarrassed. For what, Bobby had no idea. "Didn't think I'd be able to." He shrugged those broad shoulders then. "After everything that happened. You know?"

"I hear you, kid." Bobby didn't think sleep would be claiming him anytime soon either, despite the fact Sam was there now to take over the watch. Bobby was glad for the boy's respite though, hoped like hell it had been nightmare free. He hadn't heard anything telling him otherwise, so he hoped what little sleep Sam did get had been restful. God knew the dark smudges of shadow under his eyes weren't much of a gauge, not with everything they'd all been through.

Hell, Bobby hadn't looked in a mirror lately either but figured he looked like a pile 'a shit.

Sam shucked some magazines and a newspaper off of another chair, slid it across the floor next to Bobby. Moved it a little closer to Dean though, still watching his brother the whole time. Bobby didn't miss the kid's wince though, when he'd settled himself into it. Wondered how touchy a subject it was now, knowing the cat was out of the bag. "Your back okay?" His concern genuine.

Sam looked a little uneasy, shrugged again but then his hands found his back and Bobby watched him stretch out the kinks. "Yeah, not too bad," he answered. "Can't complain," he added almost apologetically.

"Glad to hear it, Sam," Bobby said. "Awful glad." Meant it, and clapped the kid on the shoulder for added emphasis.

"Thanks, Bobby." Clearing his throat, obviously still a little uncomfortable with the subject, Sam leaned in close to Dean. His brow furrowed as he took in the swelling and bruising surrounding this latest batch of sutures, their handiwork courtesy of Ellen's practiced hands. Lifting one of his own, Sam let his fingers hover just above Dean's face for a moment, before gravity, or likely the more powerful pull of brotherly concern, took control. Dropping the back of his hand lightly to meet the smooth skin next to Ellen's stitches, he softly asked, "So. . . has he been sleeping long? How's he doing?"

"He'd be doing perfectly fine if someone would keep their giant paws off him and let him get some fucking sleep." Barely awake, the sarcasm could still roll off Dean's tongue. Slapping at Sam's hand, he drew his own to his eyes, rubbing away the remnants of his brief encounter with oblivion.

Sam snapped his hand back, dodging the bulk of Dean's swing, pulling it away as though he'd get burned. Or, more likely, knew from experience what to expect from a waking Dean. Bobby couldn't help but grin at the brotherly display, brief as it was, but wisely ran a hand through his beard and moustache to cover it. Still earned him a green-eyed glare.

"What are you laughing at? You've been worse than he is." Apparently Dean's concussion hadn't affected his peripheral vision. Or his ability to bitch and moan. "Can't a guy get some sleep?"

"Sure," Sam said, all too agreeably. Gave Bobby a cheeky grin. "You can have all the sleep you want. . . in two hour increments."

"Oh, come on, Sam. That's just cruel." If Dean wasn't careful, the scowl he was wearing was going to pop a stitch or two. "Hell, every time I get closer to getting it on with Pam and the twins, one of you two assholes comes along and wakes me up."

Bobby gave a shudder, then shook his head disapprovingly. He preferred his women all natural, thank-you very much. Dean pitched him a _'what the hell's wrong with you' _glare, though and Bobby held his tongue.

Sam didn't, let out a long suffering sigh and then moved in for what Bobby assumed would be the kill. Wasn't wrong. "We can always make that trip to the hospital I shouldn't have let you talk me out of in the first place."

Bobby's eyes darted quickly to Sam, the waver of concern catching his attention. Dean's too apparently, seeing as the next thing he said came out all sincerity soft and big-brotherly patient. "Jesus, Sam, I'm fine." He reached out slightly and gave his brother's leg a slight shove, leaving his hand to rest on it. "I don't need the hospital, don't even need to play twenty questions, all right?" He turned imploring eyes on Bobby, clearly looking for backup. "Tell him, Bobby."

And Bobby decided to give Dean a break. Despite the kid's bluster and objections to Sam's fussing, Bobby knew Dean was right. He was going to be perfectly fine and all he was suffering from right then was one mother of a headache along with complete and utter exhaustion. In fact, Bobby'd bet that, if they quit badgering him, Dean would be back to sleep within seconds. "Leave him be, Sam. No need to fret." Dean mouthed the word _'thank-you'_ which immediately changed to _'no, fuck you'_ when Bobby added, "He's all there, kid, or about as much as he's ever been."

Turning to Dean and giving him another visual once over, Sam asked, "I don't know. . . He was out cold for a while."

"Only a minute or two, kid. And he's lucid. Trust me."

"You really think so?"

Dean raised a hand up between them, waved it around a bit. Sam batted it away like a mosquito.

Ignoring Dean too, Bobby explained. "Sure thing, kid. Dean and me've been reminiscing and, aside from some minor problems he's havin' with arithmetic, he's all there." Bobby chuckled to himself, happy with his inside joke.

Dean, not nearly as much. "It was one punch, Bobby. One." Confused, Sam looked concerned all of a sudden but Bobby shook his head, waved him off casually, which seemed to satisfy him. Dean wasn't quite done though. "What is with you guys picking on the invalid here? I get more respect from a poltergeist."

Sam jumped on that like Rumsfeld on a raw steak. "Invalid? Oh, so _now_ you're willing to admit you're hurt!"

"Jesus, Sam, I'm fine. Would you let it go already?"

As much as Bobby was enjoying the familiarity of the harmless bickering going on between John's boys, he could tell that Dean was really wearing down. Decided he'd better run interference. "He's fine, Sam. Leave it be."

Sam clamped his jaw shut on whatever else he was going to say, scanning his brother critically one more time before giving in and slumping back against the chair. "Fine," he said, a little defensively. Irritation quickly transformed though, his face splitting into a grin that reminded Bobby so much of John's, the rare times he saw it, he could've cried. Except for the laughter that bubbled out of his throat instead at Sam's next words. "Just don't blame me when your dream turns into a nightmare because Pam's figured out you don't measure up to Tommy Lee."

Dean didn't say a thing. Didn't have to. Just closed his eyes and melted back into the couch, folding his arms across his chest. . . one middle finger extended and a warm, hell, Bobby might've even said proud, smile curving his lips.

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_To be concluded in chapter 7 (coming right up)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary:** Bobby POV. Dean gets whomped, Sammy gets protective, John gets bad-ass and Bobby gets a shot at setting something right. Hurt/comfort, angst in spades. Concluding chapter 7.  
**Rating:** PG13, T (harsh language)  
**Wordcount: **approx. 13,000  
**Pairing/Characters:** Genfic, no pairings. Bobby Singer, Dean, Sam & John Winchester  
**Spoilers:** Minor, none beyond 2.22  
**Disclaimers:** See my profile page  
**A/N:** Major thanks and kudos again to pdragon76 for the awesome and jiffy quick beta and to Heather03nmg for the equally quick and detailed medical info. And to Erinrua. . . hey, pard, you know I'm much obliged ;). These ladies are all made of awesomeness, as are Jennie and Penny for their help with every story I work on. Lastly, to moondropz and gatorpez, thank-you both for helping to keep the love alive with all your inspirational goodies. I've dedicated Dean's lumps and bumps to you. To all those who sent your lovely feedback or put this story on alert, thank-you for letting me know that you've enjoyed this story.

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**Family, Faith & Certitude  
**_by May Robinson_

"Thanks, Bobby." Accepting Bobby's offering of freshly made coffee, Sam yawned wide enough to pop his jaw, then gave Bobby a salute with the nearly full mug he'd been handed.

"Careful, it's hot." The kid was done in, in need of the simple warning. Bobby stayed standing, about to hit the hay, for how long he wasn't sure. Knew it was futile but decided he'd suggest the same to the kid anyway. "You know, you could go on back to bed. Call it a night. I'm honestly sure Dean'll be fine if he sleeps through now 'til morning."

The boy was shaking his head before Bobby'd finished saying it. "No. It's only for a few more hours anyway. Dean'll be pissed but I'm gonna keep it up for a while. See how it goes." Taking a swallow of java, Sam set it on the armrest of the chair he'd claimed once Bobby had gotten up from it. Bobby was glad for that at least. It'd be a helluva lot more comfortable for the kid's back, might even lull him into getting more sleep.

Reaching across a soundly sleeping Dean, Bobby grabbed up one of the extra blankets Ellen had placed on the back of the couch, then tossed it over the back of Sam's chair. Just in case he decided to be sensible and give up his vigil. "Well, suit yourself then. I'm gonna turn in though. You want me to spell you again in two?"

"No, that's okay, Bobby." Turning back to Dean, Sam lightly tugged the blanket up higher on Dean's chest, absently smoothing it flat before leaving his hand there to rest above his brother's heart. "We'll be fine here."

All Bobby could do was nod. Throat constricting, caught up in the raw emotion he could feel coming from the boy sitting vigil next to his brother, and memories slamming into him of another vigil from just the other night. Another grieving brother's dismissal. "Okay, Sam. You know where--" Damn near choking on the familiar words, he amended them. "I'm just down the hall. There if you need me."

Sam's attention was all on Dean, so Bobby bade him good-night, moved to leave. Hadn't quite made it out of the room when, "Hey, Bobby?" stopped him cold. The voice sounding small and so damn young.

"Yeah, Sam?"

Looking at Bobby now, he asked, "You said you and Dean were reminiscing earlier? About what?"

Bobby sighed then, leaned against the wall. "You boys and your dad mostly, Sam."

Sam bowed his head and Bobby could see, even from across the room, how hard the boy's Adam's apple was working just to get out what it was he wanted to say. And when they met gazes again, Bobby could see the room's lamplight reflected in the watery shimmer of Sam's eyes. He was smiling though. Sadly. "That was really something, wasn't it? Dad climbing his way out of hell. Getting out in time to save Dean." Shaking his head, amazement crossing his face when he continued. "I mean, can you believe that?"

Bobby smiled too. Thought about all the crazy, unbelievable things he'd seen over the years, then thought about John and his love for his boys. It made his answer an easy one. "Yeah, son, I can."

This time Sam even laughed a little, though when he spoke, it was with a quiet intensity. Bobby might have even said resolve. "I'm going to get Dean out of this deal, Bobby. This time, _I'm_ going to save my brother."

_Oh, yeah. Definitely resolve._

Bobby didn't want to give the kid platitudes, didn't want to give him false hope. Didn't want to burden him with any more responsibility than he was already shouldering, but found himself saying the words anyway. Not to patronize or to comfort, but said with every ounce of faith and strength and certainty Bobby held in his heart.

"I know that, Sam. If there's a way, you'll find it. No doubt about it."

Because if there was one thing Bobby had learned over the past twenty years, it was this. If anyone could save a Winchester, it was going to be another Winchester.

-fin-

_Thank-you for reading!_


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